


Return us our futures

by Emmaaahoi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Champions League, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:37:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmaaahoi/pseuds/Emmaaahoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t remember with who he has been swapping shirts. He doesn’t remember Manuel Neuer hugging him. He wonders how much he'll remember of this night. Maybe he'll remember the emptiness that is consuming him. Slowly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Return us our futures

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own nor know these people. This is all fake. I stole the title from the song “crush- pendulum"

A whistle.

People threw up their hands in victory, others turned their gazes to the ground; defeated.

Time seemed to stand still. It seemed like all noise just faded out. His eyes were empty, everything was empty. He stared into the tribunes of the Allianz-Arena. He stared but saw nothing. His vision was too blurred for that.

If somebody just could come over and tell him that it was okay. No wait, never mind. He didn’t want anybody to tell him it would be okay. Certainly when it was anything but all right.

He had not noticed that his legs had given away to the pressure of the loss. He hadn’t realised until his back felt cold, soaked. It was there that he realised he had fallen down, with his back on the cold muddy grass. His blue jersey completely soaked.

Exhaling, inhaling, again exhaling. He got up and just sat down, squatted on the green field. Staring in disbelieve. It couldn’t be. How could it have happened?  
They fought back! They bloody fought back and they bloody won.  
and still lost.

 

“ Tomáš, c’mon.” someone said.  
He didn’t look up. For what use were comforting words, if you could not believe them yourself? For what use were comforting words, if you just lost all of England’s hope? If you just disappointed yourself, once again? 

He doesn’t remember with who he has been swapping shirts. He doesn’t remember Manuel Neuer hugging him. He wonders how much he'll remember of this night. Maybe he'll remember the emptiness that is consuming him. Slowly.

Suddenly there’s an arm, pulling him towards someone. Tomáš gasps for air and his nose bumps into the other man’s shoulder.

“Ow.” The shorter, dark haired man replies.

But it feels safe. Per’s arm rests on his shoulder, his hand plays with his hair, Per curls Tomáš long hair around his finger and yanks playfully at it. “Ow!” he hisses again, but smiles and he just feels how Per smiles too in that movement. It feels so safe, he really doesn’t want to let go. 

He closes his eyes and for a second all the misery is gone. For a moment it doesn’t matter that they’ve lost. They played a decent match even though things went horribly wrong. Per’s drinking and Tomáš wants to bury his head under Per’s jaw, Tomáš wants that Per just holds him, right there. So Per can prevent him from collapsing. Prevent him from just breaking down in tears. He swallows a sob, bites back the tears and lets go of Per. Per looks at the older but shorter man.

When Per lets go after maybe a second, or two, the sound comes back, his vision returns. The Bayern München fans are still bouncing on the tribunes of the Allianz-Arena. Arsenal still lost on away goals from the Germans and they’re out of the Champions League. Per let go and his anxiety came rushing back. His feelings of disappointment. His urge to prove himself towards his friends, his family, his fans. He bites his lip and suddenly Per is there again, wrapping his arms around the shorter, Czech man. Wrapping his finger in another curl of Tomáš’ wet hair, yanking playfully again.

“Yeah?” he asks.  
“Yeah.” Tomáš confirms.


End file.
